


hold me tight (or don't)

by lunar mist (fallenstarlight)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Spoilers, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenstarlight/pseuds/lunar%20mist
Summary: MAJOR SPOILER DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED INFINITY WARTony didn't want to turn round. Turning around meant that it was real. That what was happening wasactuallyhappening.Peter should have been safe.(I'll add more descriptive tags in a few weeks or so)





	hold me tight (or don't)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't write for this fandom but IW left me broken in a corner 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED INFINITY WAR BECAUSE YOU'LL REGRET IT

Tony Stark couldn’t _feel_ anything. He’d watched Strange and the Guardians (whatever their names were – Tony felt a strong shudder bubble up his chest, if he couldn’t remember their names… who would?) die. 

They’d crumbled like sand that wasn’t packed tightly enough in a mould. 

They’d crumbled like clay hitting the hard, concrete floor of his work room.

No.

They’d crumbled like living beings had _inhumanely_ been suddenly turned into dry, malleable soil.

“Um… Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice was wavering. Weak. Nowhere near to the confident, pop-culture referencing _kid_ that Tony had taken under his wing (taken him as his son - _see where that go him_ , the voice of snide truth whispered into his ear). “I don’t feel so good…”

Tony didn’t want to turn round. Turning around meant that it was real. That what was happening, was _actually_ happening.

“I don’t feel so good…” Peter repeated, and Tony had to turn around because his _ward_ was hurting so Tony was hurting. And Peter was clutching at his stomach, looking pained and inside Tony a sympathetic – or empathetic, Tony didn’t know – blossom of pain grew in his abdomen.

Somehow it had become instinct to care for Peter.

( _You fucked up, though, he should never have been on that spaceship_ )

Tony couldn’t talk. He couldn’t say anything to Peter who was looking up at him with wide doe eyes with fear and guilt weaving in amongst the warm brown.

Why can’t he say anything?

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter breathed out and he collided with Tony, and Tony caught him, holding him tight to him.

“You’re alright.” Left Tony’s throat before he could stop it, curling around them like Tony’s hands running through Peter’s hair. Because, no, Peter was not alright.

“I don’t know what’s – I don’t – I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter was blabbering, Tony realised, the fear of the unknown overtaking him. Where was Peter going, Tony wondered with a sick twist in his gut. He couldn’t say ‘you’re alright’ again because that would be a blatant _lie_.

But Tony _wanted_ Peter to be alive, to be ok, to be dissing Dirty Dancing. More than he’d wanted anything else in his life.

He’d give anything for it to be him dissolving, for it to be Peter comforting and not needing to be comforted. For him to die in his intern – ward – no, practically adopted son’s place.

Tony would give the universe anything for Peter to survive.

But the universe wouldn’t cooperate with him.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter gripped at Tony’s shoulder with one hand that was beginning to look a bit _off_. Tony just pulled him closer to him, so that he could feel Peter’s warmth, feel the quickening thrum of his heartbeat, feel his shaky breaths. Peter pressed his face into his neck and Tony could feel the quicksilver sliver of tears run down his neck.

(He would always regret never insisting that Peter call him ‘Tony’ or even ‘Stark’ – or even ‘dad’, a small dark part of his mind whispered to him)

His arms tightened impossibly so, causing the stab wound to twinge in dissatisfaction. But Tony would take getting stabbed over feeling his _son_ break apart in his own hands.

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go. Mr. Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.” The kid was shaking, Tony realised and he was leaning more and more onto Tony’s shoulder. Together they slipped to the floor, Tony unable to hold Peter up – limbs tingling with remorse.

Peter was just a _kid_ , Tony wanted to scream to the heavens (not that they existed, look at this mess). He should have been worrying about MJ and exams and puberty and his voice cracking and making him sound weird. But no. Here was Peter, on a planet that was probably millions of light-years away from his home.

Oh god. His aunt would never know.

Peter would never know if his aunt was still alive. Tony didn’t doubt that Peter would beat himself up about that if he wasn’t… well… _dying_.

And Peter was dying and scared. Why couldn’t Tony help him? Tony was a god in Peter’s eyes, but now the mythology had been broken. Now Tony was another middle-aged man who shook his fist at the universe and the universe laughed at him and killed everyone he’d ever loved.

And Peter was dying.

Tony could only hover over Peter, holding a hand to his cheek and looking deeply into his eyes. The fear was increasing with every inch of Peter that was getting blurrier and less like _Peter_ and more like the ground beneath his body.

“I’m sorry.” Peter said, eyes imploring, begging Tony to understand – what? What was he supposed to understand?

Tony couldn’t say anything. He just gripped at Peter’s arms, at his neck, at his cheek – anything that could ground him tightly to Tony.

Belatedly, Tony realised that it was only Peter’s super-healing that even meant he was still alive now. But it was failing, now Peter’s arms were dissolving. 

_I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go. Peter, please. Please, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go—_

Tony was left grabbing at air and only getting handfuls of dirt that was his _son_.

Hold me tight… or don’t.

_I’m sorry, my son, I’m sorry._

**Author's Note:**

> whelp time to go back to my corner now
> 
> ~ solei 
> 
> follow my [ tumblr](https://fallenstarliite.tumblr.com/)


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